


The Ties That Bind

by ChocoChipBiscuit



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Blow Jobs, Cunnilingus, F/M, Face-Sitting, Intercrural Sex, Kissing, Light Femdom, Masturbation, Oral Sex, Rope Bondage, canon-typical Aeducan family drama
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-30
Updated: 2018-09-30
Packaged: 2019-07-20 20:23:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16144817
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ChocoChipBiscuit/pseuds/ChocoChipBiscuit
Summary: Forgiveness is overrated. If Sereda Aeducan chooses not to kill the man that tried to kill her, that doesn’t mean she has to havefeelings.





	The Ties That Bind

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WolffyLuna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WolffyLuna/gifts).



> I love dwarves and I love Zevran and your prompt picked me up and carried me away! Hope you enjoy. :)
> 
> Many thanks to [Isis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Isis) for the friendly beta, including wrangling all my unnecessarily long run-on sentences and missing words. <3

“No hard feelings on the whole ‘I tried to kill you’ business, I see!” Zevran says, laughing as Sereda leads him to her tent.

“Forgiveness is overrated,” Sereda snorts. She takes him by the forearm, checking him with her hip and half-bumping, half-throwing him to the ground. “I don’t have to forgive you to fuck you.” Bad ideas on bad ideas, stacked like flawed diamonds. A veritable wealth of bad decisions, all leading towards this moment. When Zevran sits up and tries to kiss her, she swats him away. That feels too intimate for what they are.

So she manhandles him, strips him with ruthless efficiency. He hisses when she pulls too hard, laughs when she nearly splits his trousers, and otherwise takes it in stride. He fans his hands over his privates, batting his eyelashes with coquettish dismay. “Oh _my_ , this feels so soon! Please, be gentle with me!”

Sereda laughs, remembering her manners, and sweeps in a low bow. With his ridiculously long legs out of the way, sitting down, they are closer to the same height. Sereda had never considered herself a short woman—she was always rather tall for a dwarf—but going among these surface-folk had taught her otherwise. But she is able to look him in the eyes as she asks, “Do you _want_ me to be gentle, Zevran?”

He taps his chin, grinning. “Not particularly.”

“Then it’s settled.” She pulls off her trousers and smallclothes, dropping them in a disheveled heap as she rolls onto the bedroll. Sereda sets her head on the wadded cloak she’s been using as a pillow and wriggles on her back, knees bent. “Come on, show me if your tongue is good for more than talk.”

He settles between her legs, flat on his belly, and she clamps her knees over his shoulders, arches up to grab his hair in both hands and tug him into position. If her body is tinder then he is the flint, every motion sparking new heat as he cups her ass and licks her clit. She steers him by the hair as he buries his nose in the soft swell of her belly and licks. He’s a quick learner, eager to please—it doesn’t take him long to find her favorite rhythm with her heels drumming his back, her breath catching her lungs. She clenches her fists. Relaxes. Tension. Release. This is stress relief, nothing more.

Sweat sticks her hair to her scalp, her shirt to her back. She squeezes tight during orgasm, thighs mashing against his skull; would crush him like a grape if he doesn’t tap desperately at her ass, a rapid-pat plea that has her laughing even as she releases.

Sereda would rather roll over and sleep now that she’s done, but that would be too selfish even for her. She might use Zevran in battle, might consider using him as an assassin—and who is she fooling, she _will_ use him, because she’s learned that the ends _always_ justify the means—but to use him for pleasure and then discard him would be too cruel. She knows what it means to be disposable.

“Your turn. What would you like?” she asks.

“Your mouth on my cock? And perhaps your finger in my…?”

Sereda shakes her head. “Mouth on your cock, yes. Finger in your ass, no. Not without somewhere to wash. Unless you’re secretly full of plumbing…”

Zevran laughs. “That would be a good trick, wouldn’t it? Alas, I am not. I confess, you are so assertive that I had thought you might refuse to put your mouth on my cock.”

Now it’s Sereda’s turn to laugh, propping herself up on her elbows. “As if there’s anything submissive about holding your cock between my teeth?”

Zevran gives an exaggerated shudder. “The danger _is_ part of the appeal.”

Sereda taps her lips impatiently, sitting up. It takes a little shuffling with their heights, Sereda leaning on her pillow as Zevran kneels, but she wraps her hand around the base, wraps her lips over her teeth, and goes down on Zevran with a long drag of her lips. She tongues the vein running under his cock, giving a few quick sucks to get him slick enough to glide her hands over him. She never liked giving head—she’d be the first to admit that she’s a pillow princess, in every sense—but it’s only fair, so she works patiently. When Zevran gasps a warning that he’s going to come, she pulls back and jerks him off, letting him finish in the palm of her hand.

After, Sereda wipes her hands off on Zevran’s shirt and tucks herself into her bedroll. Zevran joins her, which is surprising, but Sereda makes room for him. It helps that the bedroll had been designed for humans, and since Sereda is shorter and Zevran is thinner than most humans, they manage to make it work with a minimum of contortion.

“You never _did_ say what brings a beautiful woman like you to the Wardens,” Zevran murmurs, folding his arm across her belly.

“My favorite brother framed me for the murder of my other brother.” Sereda sighs. “Obviously, I’m going to kill him.” She touches her cheek, tracing the lines of her brand. It is both wound and worry stone.

Zevran nuzzles her neck. “I take it that he is no longer your favorite.”

“Obviously.” Sereda rolls sideways, squirming to keep her elbow out of Zevran’s ribs. She only partially succeeds, judging from his _oof_. “But stay close, all right? I might have need of an assassin.”

. . .

The weeks turn to months, and Sereda tallies her deeds like coin. She may have lost her title, but heroism carries its own weight. She _will_ survive the Blight, and she _will_ carve her name back in the Memories. It is the furnace that stokes her fury, and she burns. Let the surface-dwellers sing her name, let them shout her praises until the Stone cries echo. Let them know her as the woman who saved the life of Arl Eamon, the woman who repaired the broken Circle, the woman who ended the werewolves haunting the Brecilian Forest. Let them carry her name in word and whisper so it trickles through the gates of Orzammar.

Let Bhelen hear her name and tremble.

So she saves her most difficult task for last, biding her time, building her name until she can storm Orzammar with the Grey Warden treaties.

When the time comes, they camp in the Frostback Mountains. The next day’s journey will bring them to the thaig’s surface entrance, and then—

“Forgiveness is underrated, you know,” Zevran murmurs, then kisses her neck, sucking on the sweet spot beneath her ear. Sereda lets him kiss her now, but she swats him for the indignity of it anyway. They are nude in her tent, buried beneath layers of blankets, their bodies slick with sweat and lovemaking. The air’s thick with the stale tang of metal and worn leather, discarded weapons and armor piled to the side.

“The man killed my brother and sent me to die. Why should I forgive him?”

“Death is so irrevocable. He was your favorite brother, you said. What made him your favorite?”

Sereda laughs, sharp and jagged. “He was the baby. We played with colored blocks together, and we marched tin soldiers against one another. I taught Bhelen to cheat at cards, and we’d double up on Trian during our games. Bhelen would give me dates rolled in coconut for my birthday, and we’d sit together and sip it with this bitter tea that he liked, and the dates were just sweet enough to counter the bitter that I could stand that awful tea. We were family. We were _friends_. And then he did _this_.”

“And you never saw it coming?”

Sereda snorts. “If one of my brothers were going to kill me, I’d have bet on Trian. We never got along. We always chased the same women.” With a smirk, she adds, “I usually got them.”

“And so now we pay like with like, no? You make a dangerous enemy.”

“Our politics are bloody and convoluted. I was Father’s favorite, so I could afford to stay out of it.” Sereda grits her teeth. “If Bhelen thought I was soft, then I’ll prove I’m the better monster.”

“You are not so monstrous as you fear,” Zevran murmurs, still kissing her neck.

“And what do you know of monsters, then?” Sereda challenges, twisting to face him. She pushes him onto his back, grabbing his wrists as she straddles his chest. “As if _you_ wouldn’t kill any Crows that showed up to claim you.”

Zevran shrugs, then moans as she kisses him. It’s a kiss with more teeth than tongue, deep and devouring. She sucks his lower lip, bites hard enough to taste blood, to smear the wet copper trickle of it over her own lips. She bites, and kisses, breath passing between their lungs, all their walls coming down. This body, this history—this is her own broken kingdom, her own birthright, and she will break anyone else if it will make her whole again. Zevran’s good to her, in all the ways she needs him—a guardian at her back, an assassin at her side. He massages her after battle and rubs her feet when they make camp and he makes her laugh when she needs it most. She can forgive him for that one small crime of attacking her in the first place only because it had never been _personal_ —

She’s gripped him hard enough to bruise his arms, to feel the bones scrape beneath her fingers, so she releases him with a quick kiss of apology and climbs over his face. She lowers herself down, fingers laced with his for support as she sits on him. She could smother him with her thighs, vicious with love, but she balances, poised, her ass on his chest and tilting forward on her knees as he licks her clit, swirls his tongue and licks and flicks. Her second orgasm is always easier than the first, her body still keyed up from fucking and fighting and the adrenaline rushing in her veins. She quakes into orgasm, breath bursting her lungs.

She curls against Zevran afterwards, spent. Threads her fingers through his long hair, thinks drowsily of how much she loves his braids, and almost misses Zevran’s last suggestion.

“At least _think_ about talking with him. I can always kill him later if you like.”

. . .

In the end, forgiveness is irrelevant.

An Aeducan is on the throne once more, and more people are dead to secure Bhelen’s kingship. Trian had been an idiot, but now—with the world at her back and the brand on her face—Sereda thinks that she would have been little better.

It is a confession, worn on her heart and under her tongue. She will never say it aloud, but that does not diminish its truth.

Even now, Sereda wonders if it was worth it.

She had given Rica the blood-stained tooth of her old pimp, and a warning that the Aeducan family ate its own. Rica nodded, thanked her for the gift, and said, “I know.” Rica was a pretty thing, but less timid than Sereda remembered.

Or perhaps it was just that now Sereda has eyes to see the casteless. 

This is their party’s last night in Orzammar, housed in rooms of honor at the palace. Bhelen had sent Sereda a tray of dates rolled in coconut, and a pot of bitter tea. They make Sereda’s stomach churn, but Zevran happily eats them on her behalf. She has him tied to the bed, ropes knotted around his wrists and anchored to the posts. The mattress is a luxury after nights spent camping on hard ground, and Zevran is thoroughly enjoying himself as she feeds him the sugary fruits one at a time, rolling them across his lips before following them with sticky kisses.

“Mm. I could get used to this sort of indulgence,” Zevran murmurs, kissing the lower curve of her lip, then the edge of her mouth. He rolls back with a sigh, wriggling his shoulders into the pillow. “Of course, no dessert is complete without—”

“If you say ‘pie,’ I’m going to spank you,” Sereda says, all mock-severity. She raises her hand, waving it in threat.

“But what if I _wish_ to be spanked?”

“Then I _won’t_ spank you.”

“Ah, the struggles I face,” Zevran says sadly, jutting his lip. He mimes wiping away a tear, though the rope means that the gesture is a good six inches away from his face. “Perhaps, as a token of my apology, I could offer oral sex?”

“Or perhaps you can just watch. As punishment for your terrible jokes,” Sereda counters, swinging her knee across his chest. She straddles his ribs, sitting back so he can see all of her—the curves of her breasts, the swell of her belly, the plumpness of her hips and thighs. Perhaps most importantly, so he can see the folds of her sex as she reaches down with one hand, fingers on either side and tugging herself open. He lets out a low noise of appreciation as she licks the fingers of her other hand, swirling them around and finishing with a theatrical dot of her tongue on her fingertip. Sereda dips her slick fingers into her cunt, rubs more wetness up and around the clit. Only the smallest of pressures, never directly on the clit, circling and rubbing.

She could, of course, make herself come much more quickly—but this is a show. Instead she watches Zevran’s eyes dilate, his breaths coming fast and heavy. He licks his lips, struggling against the bindings. It makes the sinews of his arms stand out, shoulders straining as he arches. Sereda keeps her seat, clamping her knees hard enough to creak his ribs, and sets a palm on his chest.

“If you throw me off, I will be _very_ unhappy.”

“My apologies, my lady. I would love to please you, if I may,” he says hoarsely.

Sereda chuckles. “Right now, your frustration is what pleases me.” She shifts, sliding her hand behind her to feel for Zevran’s cock. Zevran melts with relief, then gives a surprised yelp as she squeezes, hard.

“Too much?” Sereda asks.

“Eungh.” Zevran blows his lips, considering. “I think—I like it, but would rather not do that right now.”

“Fair enough.” Sereda releases his cock, then shifts forward, kneeling over his mouth. Her knees slide into the pillows, her feet on his chest as she grips the headboard for balance, pressing her wet cunt against his mouth. He kisses her first, tender against the soft flesh of her pubis, then drags his tongue over her, licking and tasting the slickness that she’s already built up. Zevran flicks over her clit, light at first, then turning into harder swirls and finally tugging her clit into his mouth, soft and gentle rolling into hard and harder. He licks and sucks until she comes like an earthquake, all rolling waves and quivering flesh and shaking, shaking, knuckles white on the headboard as she bites back her cries.

All too soon it goes from just enough to too much, and she pushes herself off Zevran and flops against the curve of his shoulder. Zevran shifts as if to hold her, then groans as the rope keeps him in place.

“I should untie you, shouldn’t I?” Sereda sighs, sitting up to undo the knots.

Zevran manages a shrug. “It _would_ be nice,” he agrees. “If nothing else, so inconvenient if I need to relieve myself.”

“ _Do_ you need to relieve yourself?” Sereda asks, freeing his wrist. She massages it between her hands, checking for marks. He has a few dents, little more than imprints from struggling, but nothing severe. She kisses them anyway.

“In a urinary sense? No. In a sexual sense? Well…” Zevran waves towards his penis, still erect.

Sereda laughs, untying his other wrist. “I think I can help with that.”

She takes a vial of oil and massages it into her palms, then slides them over his cock. Sereda takes long, slow strokes from the base up towards the tip, sliding her palm over the top and then gliding back down. Once he’s nicely coated, she kneels on the bed, leaning forward on the pillow. Her thighs are braced apart, just wide enough to allow him to slip his oiled cock between them. He curls himself over her, fingers laced into hers, and starts moving, slow and languid. Sereda squeezes his hand and cants her hips, rubbing the slickness of her wet labia against his cock. He kisses her neck and the back of her shoulder, then nibbles. Sereda moans, pushing back against him, and squeezes her knees together. He groans, and they move, slowly, gently, until Zevran finally comes with a sigh, his come spattering the blanket.

Sereda tucks herself under the covers as Zevran takes another coconut-covered date, and they cuddle together drowsily.

“Do you think you will ever forgive him?” Zevran asks, voice slurred somewhere on its way to sleep.

Sereda thinks. Counts the scars on her face. The callouses on her knuckles. She touches a hand to her cheek, tracing the lines of her brand.

“Forgiveness is overrated. I don’t have to forgive him—I just have to move on.”


End file.
